I should have learned from past experience to be a bit more patient. My Baguazhang class this week was…really good. Something’s different. The teacher started us off by reviewing basic drills, then we practiced walking the circle while he emphasized its Daoist origins, then we even had ten minutes at the end of class to ask him questions (!). Maybe he’s finally getting a good feel for the class. Or maybe he’s been reading my blog (oh crap…oh, wait, no one really cares what I think do they? I certainly hope not.).
I pounded him with questions.
Should we be practicing walking the circle at home?
Um, yeah.
How should I feel when I’m doing Baguazhang? Should I feel centered like in Chen style Tai Chi (which is the only Tai Chi I’m familiar with)?
Yes, but the emphasis is a bit different of course. There is more of an inner rotation of the hips and more powerful, forceful movements.
How did you get into Baguazhang?
After studying Chen style Tai Chi in Beijing, I became a bit wary of my Tai Chi teacher, decided to take a Yin style Baguazhang class and ended up liking it and eventually became a disciple of He Jinbao.
I’m paraphrasing here of course. Don’t go quoting me.
On the drive home (which is like 5 minutes, but still…) I came to the conclusion that I was the one who wanted to rush through being a newbie. I was the one who felt uncomfortable being new at this. And if I really want to be honest (oh I do, I really do), I feel very uncomfortable being a woman in this class full of men who already know what they’re doing.
Okay. As much as I hate to admit it and as much as I try not to, I still place a lot of importance on my intelligence. Being a woman in a class full of men just magnifies this for me. Because a lot of men (not all! not trying to lump all you fine gentlemen into one big generalization here, bear with me.) automatically peg women as stupid or rather, less intelligent than them. At least, that has been my personal experience. So. I’ve spent much of my life trying to prove myself, when I really didn’t need to. And sometimes, like in this class, all of that comes up for me again.
But the shift in this class has me thinking that maybe it’s not really a big deal. That no one expects me or any of the other newbies to be experts right away. And no one really cares if I’m a woman or not.
Which only leaves one thing left to do. Just practice.
Being new at something is scary. Maybe not mind-boggling scary, but nonetheless, most people (myself included) would prefer to move through the “newbie” stage as quickly as possible. Why is that?
I visited the Austin Zen Center for a second round of the Beginner’s Instruction (hey, I’m a slow learner) and our instructor this time around brought up an interesting point. How do you relate to the form? Meaning, what is your relationship to just sitting there? How do you react and what comes up for you? I never thought about it in that way and it got me thinking about being new at something and how I relate to the forms in Tai Chi (and in Qigong and now Bagua).
My usual reaction? To crack jokes. While waiting for my friend to join me at the Zen Center, the room was full of serious quietude and anticipation. I was so excited to be there though that I didn’t feel like being serious, so when my friend walked in I said in a loud, booming voice, “Shhhh – we’re sitting zazen!”
It is the same for me when I practice Tai Chi and when I’ve practiced Qigong. For the most part, I’m really happy to be there, despite being nervous about making mistakes or whatever other fear crops up when I’m learning something new in class. So the way I get myself through the fear is by using humor, or playing the fool or indulging in silliness.
But why the need for any coping mechanism? What’s so wrong about being new at something anyway and why do so many people try to rush through it (as if it ever ends!)?
I’ve noticed this in my Baguazhang class as well. Half the class already knows Baguazhang and the other half are completely new to it. Us newbies learn by following the more knowledgable students. This is fine by me and it actually helps, but there is little time spent in class for reflecting on what we’re doing. We walk into class and immediately go into drills. For an hour and a half non-stop. I poke fun at the masculine energy in the air, which in reality I don’t have a problem with, but there seems to be this rush to get through the beginning stages as quickly as possible. And you know, maybe that’s just my perspective, but it does make me wonder – where are we rushing to and why so quickly?
Okay, I have to admit…I’m a little scared of some of my Bagua classmates. I feel like such a girly-man in this class – and I’m a girl! Everyone’s all beefy, sweat’s flying everywhere (literally) and they’re barreling through the movements like I don’t know what. I finally stopped the teacher and blurted out, “Doooood, slow dooooooown! I can’t follow what the heck yer doin!”
Okay, I didn’t quite say it like that…But I was thinking it.
Despite feeling horrendously inadequate, this class was much better than the first one last week. Our first lesson in the land of Bagua was a wee bit chaotic and more closely resembled a three ring circus. Our teacher has decided only to focus on the Lion Form, since attempting to show us several different animal forms on the very first day left most of us frustrated and confused.
So far, this class feels a bit militaristic. There are lots of drills (which help – I’m definitely not complaining here!) and lots and lots of excited energy. When class begins, things are pretty low-key, but by the end there is an obvious electricity in the air. Maybe too much. It feels a bit unsettling and unbalanced. I don’t know. Perhaps I just feel lost without a closing movement, like in Tai Chi. Or maybe this display of martial manliness is a bit much for my very effeminate nature. I’m not sure. Maybe I’m uncomfortable with my own martial manliness and should get in touch with that? Nah…
I should be fair. There is a lot more to Baguazhang than what I’m saying here and I’m oversimplifying a little. There is a lot that we don’t talk about in class. Actually, why don’t we talk about this stuff in class? For example, circle walking. In class, “walking the circle” is spoken like a punch in the face. Like, “yo, I’m gonna walk the circle so back off motha fucka!” From what I understand, walking the circle is not exactly a ho-down. In actuality, it
“dates back hundreds of years when Daoists would walk in circles to calm their mind as a form of meditation. The early Daoists repeated a mantra while walking the circle slowly with relaxed, comfortable and natural body movements.” (taken from my very credible google search on What is a Bagua Circle?)
This weekend I actually worked up the nerve to go down to the Austin Zen Center and participate in the Beginner’s Instruction. I’ve been reading about Zen Buddhism for many months now, so I thought it was time I got my nose out of my books and experienced all this zen stuff in the flesh. Still, I was a few minutes late because I kept procrastinating and thinking to myself, I don’t know if I wanna do this, I’m not sure, um, hem-ha, etc. But I had to go. I had already blurted out to my sister the previous night that I was planning to go and check it out. I couldn’t back out. She’d never let me live it down.
I walked into a brightly lit room (surprisingly) full of people and our cheery instructor, who was dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt (thank God!). He gave us the low-down, asked us our names and such and then sped through a number of Japanese terms that went straight over my head. The over-achiever in me panicked a little, but we were reassured that it wasn’t necessary to remember everything. If we decided to stick with it, we would eventually get it. Or not…
After class we were invited to attend a lecture given by the Head Teacher. I walked in on the wrong foot and then placed my shoes by the door. I took a step back and got weirdly nostalgic. When I lived in the Czech Republic, you were always expected to take your shoes off when entering someone’s home. Taking my shoes off here seemed duly appropriate and gave me the strange sense of being at home and in a foreign place all at the same time.
The zendo, or meditation hall, was nothing like our warm, casual introduction in the converted house across the street though. This was all ceremony. The change in formality was like jumping into a cold shower. I was suddenly alert and painfully aware of my newness. But during break, I had the chance to actually speak to a few people and exchange friendly words. Everyone I met was extremely polite, unpretentious and welcoming. Not to mention, everyone was wearing black, so I fit right in!
Despite being uncomfortable with so much formality, I understood it. And the Head Teacher’s humor and kind words helped to soften things up a bit. He gave a 45 minute talk and then gave us newbies the opportunity to stay for 30 more minutes of zazen (meditation) or we could head out. I chose to head out, because I was starving. Plus, I am not ready to sit zazen with a bunch of strangers. I know my limits.
I’m not sure how this will go. I’m uneasy with the idea of even being Buddhist. But they are not asking me to convert and most likely never will. I’d probably run for the hills if they did.
Anyway, I know I’ve gotten off track just a bit, so this week, it’s back to Baguazhang and Tai Chi. I’m actually looking forward to humiliating myself in Bagua again and basking in the familiarity of Tai Chi…
a) a city in China
b) a carbonated beverage
c) a new iPhone app
d) my latest martial arts adventure
You know the answer I hope (and no, it is not a city in China! I think…). Baguazhang is…different than what I’m used to. It is not like Tai Chi at all. No slow, boring movements here! It’s all circles, circles, circles. I found myself chaotically swinging my arms around in the air, jutting my feet out in odd positions and sweating profusely due to the air conditioning being broken (yeah, and I live in Texas). All this newness and sweatiness was incredibly frustrating. I know it’s shameful to admit, but I really wanted to whine. I wanted so badly to compare it to Tai Chi and Qigong. Because at least by doing that I could feel better about not knowing what the hell I was doing.
After feeling quite clumsy for a good hour, the teacher casually complimented me on the way I was “walking the circle.” It completely went to my head. Damn right I walk that circle good! That’s cause I’m awesome! It’s all in here (taps forehead). All in the head. Yeah. I got this Bagua thing down. Shyiiiiiit.
And that lasted about 2 seconds.
I always like to think of myself as one of those people who likes to try new things. Because it makes a person sound so brave and adventurous. And who doesn’t want to think of themselves as brave and adventurous? But actually trying new things kind of sucks sometimes. It tests you. It frustrates you. It mocks you and laughs in your face. It’s also unavoidable. Well, if you ever want to learn anything anyway. Knowing that, I’ve decided to stick with this class for the next 10 weeks. Will I regret choosing this class over that Kendo class I had been eyeing and drooling over a few weeks ago? Possibly. But at least I’ll have given it a try.
Here’s a video of something similar to what we did today. Today, we worked on the Lion Form (I was really hoping we’d learn the Unicorm Form. Unicorns!!). This video demonstrates a different style of Bagua – Sun Style, but the application is similar. At least, to my newbie eyes.
I recently learned that a friend and unrequited love of mine was heading off to study Buddhism and Transcendental Meditation. I would say I was deeply saddened but that sounds ridiculously cliche and hollow. In actuality, I am filled with a strange sense of deja vu and I wonder how this path will unfold for him.
When I was in High School I devoured new age and self-help books. I carried Dan Millman’s Way of the Peaceful Warrior around with me everywhere, hoping one day, I too would meet a “Socrates” and find peace within. The closest I ever came was an English professor during my sophomore year of college who had a stutter and a rather icky way of hitting on me while couching his words in literature.
And then I discovered Carlos Castaneda. I read with awe as he explained that in order for one to be completely free, one would have to sever all relationships, especially with family. The idea was that family members and significant others limited one’s ability to reach the infinite. In the books by his female counterparts, they even go so far as to say that men leave energy “worms” inside a woman’s body after sex, persistently depleting them of life-energy even years afterwards.
Complete bullocks right?
I bought it hook, line and sinker. It wasn’t until years after studying Anthropology and a rather eye-opening conversation with a good friend, did I realize my serious error. I did an internet search (rudimentary in those days) and discovered the truth for myself. Carlos Castaneda was no disciple of some mysterious Yaqui shaman. He was a manipulative womanizer and polygamist and completely full of his own inner bullshit. I was mortified, embarrassed, and humiliated. I had basically bought into a cult!
Granted, it could have been worse. I was only reading his books. I didn’t actually fly out to Los Angeles to follow him. But I wanted to. And that thought still kind of disturbs me. But I’m glad it disturbs me. It makes me question even the most seemingly mundane assumptions about life. Since then I’ve continued to turn to religion and other new age books for answers, but none of them have ever been able to fulfill my insatiable hunger for what I really want to know – myself.
Which is why I worry about my friend. Maybe he’ll be fine. Who knows. I certainly don’t. I’ll send him off with the most honest prayer I can possibly give him – may he find bittersweet disillusionment and in so doing, himself.
My Silk Reeling Tai Chi class has been fabulous. But everyone’s so serious. Hey people! Just because we are doing slow, boring movements does not mean we have to be slow and boring.
I started thinking about this during class this week. I know. I shouldn’t be thinking. I should be in some perfect state of mental balance where all my thoughts float by while I remain in a state of mental clarity and lucidity. Yeah right. So I was thinking about this and wondering why everyone was so serious. And why I was so serious and weirded out by everyone else’s seriousness. So much so that I felt stiff and awkward. I stared at the teacher throughout each movement, trying to mirror her exactly, but I kept tripping up. And that’s when it dawned on me. Duh! I need to make these movements my own.
It’s kind of like singing. Now, I am not a professional singer by any stretch of the imagination (though I’ve had a voice lesson or two in my day!) but if I’m ever singing along to a song in my car, the shower or wherever, I notice that when I try to match the singer exactly, my voice sounds kind of weird, a little out of tune and not really that good. But if I actually sing the song as if it were my own it actually sounds halfway decent. Not so much that I’d be willing to record it (dear god no!), but it actually has a resonance and depth that just mindlessly singing along does not.
With that in mind, I stopped looking at the teacher, stopped worrying about blocking the people behind me who were trying to follow their steps in the mirror and focused on feeling each movement without looking. It was quite a different feeling. A little shaky at first, but ultimately I trusted it more because I was experiencing it first hand. I liked that.
A lot of the time I live purely in my head. I usually have a lot of stuff going on in there. Much of it simply ridiculous pontifications and fantasies. So experiencing something like Tai Chi physically and not just mentally or intellectually is very important to me. Because I don’t truly “get” something until I’ve embodied it. Meaning, it has to become a part of my experience – not just a thought or belief in my head. And also, for selfish, vain reasons. Growing up, I never saw myself as a very physical person. I hated sports. I hated P.E. (well, who didn’t…). What I loved was to get lost in books. So I trained my brain meat, but didn’t pay much attention to the rest of my meat (did I just refer to myself as meat??). That is, until I found myself completely stressed out by these very thoughts that I believed I had under control. Ah, I would laugh if only it weren’t so painfully true…
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